


Under the Northern lights

by underthefuckinradar (iwriteyouread)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Clarke and Lexa are both functioning adults, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, They just need some time off, adulthood and responsabilities suck, angsty at times but nothing too heavy, sex with strangers, strangers share a connection, strangers turn into not so strangers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwriteyouread/pseuds/underthefuckinradar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin is a young but promising thoracic surgeon who's been feeling down for months, unable to shake off the feeling of dissatisfaction at her life. Lexa Thrace is a successful hedge fund manager who believes private life is a luxury she can't and won't afford. They both stumble upon the other, far away from home. </p><p>The odds were infinitesimal. They were not supposed to cross path. They were never meant to meet. But they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saezshootingstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saezshootingstar/gifts).



> If you like this, please, let me know.  
> If you feel like this sucks, well, I'm sorry (or not) but let me know what sucked so I can do better next time :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete AU. I wanted to forget the whole Lexa is dead thing because reasons.
> 
> If you like it, please drop me a note.  
> If you feel like this sucks, sorry (or not)!

"Hey, Clarke, get your ass down there and have a look at that shit on TV, you're going to lose your goddamn mind".

She should have known she was going to be summoned at some point during the documentary marathon happening downstairs - the plight of having your best friend rooming with you while her house is being disinfected. A gentle sigh escapes her lips, as she rolls her head on her shoulders, neck still sore from that 7 hours surgery she performed earlier that day. She's dragging her feet, socks gliding on the hardwood, reminding her of how she used to have sliding competition on that very floor with her dad. She doesn't need to think about that tonight, about _him_ , on top of everything else. The gentle hum of the TV reverberating through the staircase soothes her mind, as does the blue hue painting the walls of the otherwise dark living room. 

"Doctor Reyes, what is so important that you had me aborting one of the mightiest mission ever?"

"Scrubs washing?" Raven looks up from the couch to grin at her, a knowing smirk at her lips.

"You know it"

"Who cares about your scrubs. You're in luck Doctor Griffin, I just found your - and by extension mine - next vacations plans. Also, just so you know and you can keep doing it forever, I'm all about you calling me Doctor Reyes".

She can't help but wink at the self-satisfied grin etched on her friend's face. Luck had been on their side when they met in Boston years ago, by literal accident when Raven, who was doing her post-grad at MIT totaled her car while she was driving to her own Harvard campus.

"Raven, you  _are_  the one with the kickass PhDs - plural, and if Ross Geller can call himself Doctor, you sure as hell can too. Last time I checked, dinosaurs cannot launch missiles or orbital stations, but you actually can and you have the NASA clearance to prove it. So, anyway, vacations ? » She sigh, rubbing a tired hand over her face, eyes closed in exhaustion and continues.

« I don't know which dictionary you use, but in mine, that is most definitely not a real word so please explain what are these things you seem to speak so highly of, doc?". She sighs again and goes for a smile, but the best she can come up with is vague pout. She can't do more than this grimace, doesn't even have the will to do so. 

Just like everything she's been doing for the last few of months, save surgery, she's distracted, bone tired, her mind frazzled. If she's being honest with herself, she really does need a break, the toll her work has been taking lately becoming more overwhelming and suffocating as the weeks go by.

"Have a seat for a couple of seconds… » Raven pats the empty place next to her on the couch  « … look at this and tell me it's not the fucking greatest thing you've ever seen". Seeing Raven pointing so vivaciously at the TV has her curious of what has her so damn excited. After all, she does have weeks upon weeks of days off she could and _should_ use.

The second her gaze falls on the screen, she blindly reaches for the glass of wine with her name on it - bless Raven - and she knows she won't go back to her laundry until the end of the show. A few minutes in, she grabs Raven's forearms. She's vaguely aware of the petite brunette trying to losen the grip on her forearm, but she's powerless to resist to what she's watching. 

"We are doing this, Raven. You know it's always been a dream of mine, I've bored you to death enough about Sweden and northern lights when I was taking my boards for you to know that, you evil, evil genius...". 

She doesn't have time to brace for the impact when Raven jumps in her arms, a loud scream letting her know that this was exactly what the woman next to her wanted to happen. 

The red wine stain on the couch is not.

\---------------------------------------

The sound of a phone tears her off the silent contemplation of the stunning lakeshore in front of her, steady rain hitting the windows and blanketing her thoughts.

She's tempted to let it go to voicemail. _As if._  

She doesn't even let it ring thrice.

"Hey Anya ! What's up ? Is it about our move ? It's been months in the making and we've both worked our asses off for this. Please tell me you're not getting cold feet now?". Rainy days always had this ability to make her a bit more mercurial.

"I’m not. That’s actually not the reason I'm calling, but how the fuck would you know that if you don't even let me talk?"

She frowns, rubbing a tired hand over her forehead, eyes closed in exhaustion, willing the migraine starting to pulse in her skull to go away. "Fair enough, sorry, what's up ?"

"Lexa, we worked our asses off on that buy-out, even Leda Braga - our big badass boss -  was satistified, and that's saying something. We are now the majority shareholder of the company and with the new investors backing the fund, we'll be able to make a substantial difference in the company policy and governance so no, I'm not getting a cold _anything_. Anyway, I called to talk business"

"Anya. We are business women and spend literally every waking hour of every fuckin day talking business, so please, and I say it with the utmost respect, what is it that you fucking want, you dipshit?"

"Don't be rude, it doesn't become you. Remember that documentary we watched, a couple of weeks ago, after the HSBC bash in Lausanne, on Scandinavia and northern lights?" The woman on the phone has an excited edge to her voice that makes her curious. 

"I do...go on" She frowns, not sure she's liking where the conversation was going.

"Basically, I've already informed the Board of the fund that we will be taking a couple of weeks off, both of us, to refocus and come back full strength for the actual financial operations we'll have to oversee once the buy-out is official and we are appointed in the board of the company. For now, we are technically not needed here"

"Whaaaaaat?" She's incredulously screaming into her phone, taking it off her ear to look at the screen, as if Anya's name on it would somehow negate what was just said.

"Is this a joke, Anya? Please tell me it's a freakin joke." She's screaming and she could care less because she’s alone in her office, nobody in sight, especially not at 11PM on a Saturday. 

"Lexa, please hear me out". Anya sounds somehow apologetic - or frustrated, she can’t say, not when her anger is reaching new heights.

"Why would you fuckin do that? You cannot act like a goddamn lunatic, Anya! We have fuckin responsabilities"

"Which we do not ignore, we’re just taking some well-earned time off. Also please, who's answering from her work phone at this hour? it's YOU, Lexa. And I can bet my DB5 that you are currently sitting in front of these huge glass panels overlooking the Leman Lake, wondering if a gin tonic would cure the migraine that is starting to spread or maybe you’re asking yourself if ditching work altogether to go fuck an innocent victim or one of your usual hookups is not the best option at your disposal... Am I on to something?"

What can she say?

"That is..." She hesitates between the cold hard truth or a tired rebuttal. "…That is dreadfully accurate. Also please don't refer to my dalliances partners as victims... I mean, it's always consensual" She shouldn't let the smugness permeate her words, but Anya picks up on it anyway.

"Oh please, don't be that smug asshole who knows she can pick up anybody. Even if you can, smugness is unattractive" She scoffs at Anya.

"Says Anya Langman, the reigning queen of smugness and assholery."

"What can I say, it's my whole fuckin game, and it does work wonders" The older woman sounds amused, and it’s staring to loosen her anger, quickly dissipating into a mix or tiredness and resignation.

"It really does, I'm still convinced it was a dream when I came home and you were entertaining 3 women on our couch. And you were still half-clothed". The chuckle escapes her lips before she can stop it, and she knows she won't be able to say no to what her best friend seems to envision for them.

"What can I say? I'm a catch. And you are boring as fuck".

"I've never had any grievances. I have razor sharp focus when engaged in intercourses, I really cannot multitask like you seem to, in these moments" She’s smiling into the phone now

"I'll take it as a compliment"

"You can. Anyway, you successfully managed to derail my anger, well done." She exhales loudly, knowing she's going to regret what comes out of her mouth next. "Were you serious about these vacations?".

She's screwed.


	2. a rosé kind of night

The Kungliga Slottet in the distance, ominous in its giganticness, illuminates the frozen canal, paints the old bricks of the old town's houses in its trademark soft golden light. Paved streets of the capital glisten under the glare of the streetlights, ice coating everything. The city is soft, comforting, comfortable even, a far cry from the stark and frigid nights at this time of the year. Their colleagues had told them they'd fall in love with Sweden, and so far, there's not denying the beauty and charm of it all. The brutal weather in the winter is not even bothering them, the snow slowly falling outside adding to the serenity radiating from _everywhere_.

She's thrown off her thoughts by the older woman, poking her shoulder with her clutch.

"Move it, Lexa, we are going to be late"

"Late for what? There is no timetable to show up at a bar, is there?"

"Technicalities" Anya waves her off.

"You are the lawyer here, _you_ prey on technicalities". 

"Tonight is the first night of our vacations and I just want us to unwind and have a good time. Tonight, you're not a hotshot derivatives expert, and I'm not a tax lawyer anymore, we are just two besties having fun and.. "

"I hate that term" she grimace at the sheer detestation of the word

"What? besties? It's how the younglings talk, now. You just turned the big 3-0 a couple of months ago and I'm 2 years ahead... we are dinosaurs, we need to catch up" 

"Of course we do." She sighs, gesturing for Anya to have a seat on the bed while she finishes up.

"Anyway, yes, we are ordinary women tonight but if I do say so myself, we look mighty fine and I fully expect us both to have some sinfully good times, if you know what I mean".

She can't deny that they both look attractive. She's not her younger self anymore, lanky and lacking self-confidence, always hiding behind curtains of wavvy long hair, large clothes and ill-fitting glasses. Working in a completely male dominated field has, unwillingly, forced her to embrace her feminity much quicker. When she was in college in London and Paris, she could just hide, take notes, disappear in the crowd and score astronomical grades in fundamental mathematics but now, as much as she hates it, the positions she held for the last few years left her with no choice on how to conduct herself in public. Her sheer talent and work ethic made her move up the ladder at JP Morgan at record pace, giving her _de facto_ more and more responsabilities and asking of her to speak in front of more and more people, and she had had to adjust to always being under the lenses of each and everyone on her teams. She thrives on this scrutiny now, under the competitive environment, but it had been a hard couple of years when she first started. 

She's lucky to have Anya in her life : the unapologetic lawyer had been a great influence and a real catalyst in her professional career, allowing her to get rid of doubts and misconceptions she could have about how she had to behave because she wasn't a man and debulking the myth about women not succeeding in finance. She now owned any room she was in, commanding attention with carefully chosen words, financial expertise and a subtle raise of her eyebrow. The older woman and her had met at a charity event back in New York, where they had both grown up, when she was still a promising analyst fresh out of school and Anya a young cutthroat lawyer for a prestigious firm. They had hit off instantly, bonding over their lack of private life, painfully long working hours, and love for vintage cars.

They had fucked once.

Well, they had tried. 

It had been disastrous : between their inebriated state and the fact that they both wouldn't relinquish an ounce of control, it had been more of a wrestle match and a chorus of exasperated sighs and grunts than anything. They had fallen back on her bed, in a heap of limbs, giggling like teenagers, agreeing that just because they needed the release didn't mean they had to go and grab each other. They’ve been inseparable ever since, always winding up working in the same cities or keeping constant contact when they didn’t.

So here they were, ready to hit the bars in Stockholm, dressed to kill : both of them had somehow of a fondness - their boss would call it an obsession - for anything black or grey, so it came to no surprise to the other that they had elected to wear an outfit so similar that it felt like it was preplanned. Skinny leathered black jeans, ripped at the knees and a sheer black blouse for her - a dark grey shirt for Anya - both ensconced in long jackets to fight off the stinging cold of the scandinavian night. She had chosen to wear ankle boots while Anya was in her signature derbies, a far cry from the heels they wear on a daily basis.

She barely has time to adjust her beloved watch to her wrist, still chuckling at that time when Anya showed up at work in ripped clothes after a night of debauchery, shocking the whole office into scandalized silence before she is forcefully yanked by her friend.

"Come on, slow poke, I'm not sure you'll sway all the ladies with your extensive and nerdy knowledge of complication watches"

"Don't forget the bi-axial tourbillon"

"Lexa. We have no time for geek talk. Strap it on and let's get fantastically drunk". She dabs some perfume under her ears, drags the bottle to the inside of her wrists where she sprays just a tad of it, before putting it down, looking at her hair one last time in the mirror. _Perfect_. When she turns around, Anya is looking at her, completely unimpressed and acutely aware that she is trying to slow them down. She sees the older woman about to open her mouth so she cuts her off.

"Lead the way, Anya"

"Don't I always?"

\--------------------------------

They're both comfortably tucked into their booth, in a secluded corner of Café Opera, quietly nursing bloody marys when she sees them. 

They could be sisters. She doesn't fuckin _care_.

She wants the one with the black blouse, the tattoo on her arm, the amazing hair and the McQueen skull clutch in her bed tonigh, or on any other surface, if she's being honest with herself. She's opening her mouth to work on a plan with Raven when said friend lets out a gasp, grasping her forearm.

"Please Clarke, tell me you saw the two Amazons who just came into the club"

"Oh trust me, I think the whole fuckin bar saw them walking in. Looks like I found myself someone for the night, if she's interested, obviously".

"Hell yeah, Griff, show me you've still got it"

"Showtime, then"

As the women scan the open space for their seats with the waiter looking into his booking log, she holds her breath, hoping they'll come their way, where empty booths are still available.

Her target for the night is the epitome of beauty and intensity. Tall but not frail, with a frame that suggests a rigorous fitness regimen, legs for days, hair that begs to have hands - _hers_ \- running through it. She's consciously dressed to showcase all of her assets too : classy but edgy - her very own weakness. When she looks up from her shameless perusal to have a clearer look at her eyes, Clarke finds these very eyes staring right back at her. 

 _'Damn. So this is what it feels like, to have your body set on fire'_  

She is pretty sure she somehow sees a spark, a similar response in the brunette's eyes, but she doesn't want to misinterpret anything. Eyes still deep into the stranger's, she lets herself lean back against the couch, her dress riding up her thighs a couple of inches higher than what propriety dictates, but she doesn't care. She looks good and she knows her target agrees, if the hungry gaze that's now sweeping over her own body, taking a detour at her legs and breasts is any indication. When their eyes meet again, she can't help it : the wink she sends her is dirty, loaded with lust, and she knows it got her intention across perfectly when she sees the tattoed woman smirk and lick her lips. She's about to get up and properly introduce herself when Raven leans into her, whispering in her ear 

"You might want to slow down a bit, Clarke, just let them get to their seats, let them drink something, hell, buy her something to drink, and _then_ you can get up and go fuck her in the bathroom stalls, for fuck's sake. It's starting to feel like that Harvard reunion 3 years ago when you managed to keep it in your pants for 5 minutes tops when Garreth the Douche came in" 

The atmosphere of the bar, the languid mood she's in, combined with the slight buzz from the alcohol don't really make it any easier for her to listen to Raven, but the advise she's given is actually sound and who knows, maybe flirting instead of going for it without any preambule might prove to be entertaining. And that's exactly what they were looking for tonight - Entertainment. Of that exact long-haired kind. Keeping her eyes on the brunette now seated 10 meters away with her friend, she flags their waiter, making a show of slowly getting up and smoothing her dress over her legs, knowing the brunette would be watching. She leans into sweet Daniel, an arm casually thrown around his shoulders, screaming her order into his ear. Their sweet viking nods, winks at her, shaking his head in laughter. She leans back against the couch, shoulders brushing Raven's, a smug smile tugging at her lips.

"Please tell me you did not order something extravagant for them"

"You know I did" The smug smile now turing into a full grown smirk.

"Classic Griff move"

"I'm just being helpful, Raven. Look at them, they look like they are deciphering an old manuscrit. I'm just moving along the proceedings"

"You mean you are actively working to get them on our level"

"Absolutely"

\----------------------------------------------------

She feels eyes on her the second they are in the bar. It's not particularly unwelcome, as the whole point fo the night was, to quote Anya, 'we go out, we get inebriated, we find ourselves some hot chicks, we fuck and we go back to the hotel at some point before 11 AM tomorrow so we have time to clean up and checkout'. While some waiter who looks terrifyingly like the Mountain on Game of Thrones tries to find their reservation, she casts a look at the more secluded area of the bar, the one she had specifically asked for when booking their table. She'd heard by a swedish colleague that it was nice, a bit away from the dancefloor and that the crowd was going to be to her liking - whatever the hell _that_ meant. Carefully avoiding a group of already drunk kids dancing in the middle of the passage, they stumble in an area with high ceilings, leather booths and an low blueish lighting that make the atmosphere infinitely more intimate than the club part of the establishment. A few couples are in the booths on her right, a big group of what appears to be friend are passing champagne flutes in front of her and on her left...

She stops dead in her tracks.

Nursing a cocktail and looking breathtaking is the most beautiful woman she's even seen, flanked by another gorgous woman. Just as she discreetly nudges Anya to signal the end of their hunt for the night, she looks more closely at the mystery woman - blonde, her weakness - to see her eyes already on her. The woman is most thoroughly seizing her up, eyes slowly taking an inventory of everything, until she finally, shamelessly, locks her eyes with hers. She has to physically grip her clutch tighter to fight shivers. The way her legs are bare for the world to see, how sculpted they look from where she's standing and how the dress showcases the glorious body hidden under the material of that dress are not helping matters and the music already thumping through the club does nothing to calm her racing heart. 

 _'Is this what a stroke feels like?'_ She surmises

There is something about the way she is being examined - there is really no other way to describe the careful yet very sharp perusal - that sets all her nerves on fire, and before she can do something very rash like ditching Anya and taking the woman to the hotel right away, the very woman is sending her the dirtiest wink she's ever had the privilege of receiving. _'Houston, we have a lift-off'_ Lexa thinks, and she can't, and won't, fight back the tight smirk and heady stare she sends back. 

"There you go, Ladies, have fun! This is the drinks menu, just wave when you're ready, I'm just feet away". The spell is broken by Daniel, showing them to their seats and handing them fancy menus. 

"Ok, so, when I said that we were going out to drink and fuck some chicks, I quite didn't expect you to find yours within seconds of entering the club, because with the way she was undressing you with her eyes, and the very subtle way you were licking your lips at her, I don't need to be fuckin Professor Trelawney to know where this is going". Subtlety wasn't on her agenda when sex was concerned and it wasn't going to start now. 

"Your Harry Potter love always catches up with us at the most inopportune times" she muses, amused. 

"Bitch please. You love it. Also, discreetly look at blondie on your right, she still has her eyes on you and you're most definitely her main course for dinner... Her dessert, too"

Blondie is indeed running her eyes again on her body and just when she thinks she's going to get up and introduce herself, her friend leans into her, and what she whispers in her ear seems to prevent her for coming over. Just when she thinks the blonde is staying put, she watches from the corner of her eye as she ever-so-slowly gets up from her couch, balancing herself on what appears to be black studded Valentino pumps and her friend's shoulder. She’s flagging Daniel now, in a sure but nonchalant way, letting her know with the way she's using her body that she is used to capture the attention of a room, _must_ be used to run the show. The waiter eats up her antics: she's acting like the typical ditzy blonde, slinging an arm around his shoulder and whispering in his ear, tightly pressed agains his side.

The curve of her body, fitted in that skin tight mini dress - the way it is collared all the way up in a semblance of modesty when in fact, it's tastefully see-through - the way she can clearly see slender arms and deft fingers, everything about the stranger is making her crave something strong to settle herself

"Stop it, you're staring"

"She obviously wants me to" She tears off her eyes from the woman, turning her head towards Anya, daring her to contradict what she knows is the truth.

"And you can wait for 2 minutes to keep it in your pants. What are you having?" The menu is a blur, to be honest, and the abundance of drinks only makes it harder to concentrate.

"Her".

"Lexa. Focus. Are we having champagne? We need to start this vacation right". Anya never took her champagne lightly and she was not going to start now.

"Of course we are. Do they have any Dom Pérignon rosé?" The familiarity of this topic eases her mind and calms her raging thoughts.

"Oooh, a DP kind of night! I like where this is headed. We know what happens when we start out this way" 

"Hmmm" she looks the menu, dragging her finger down the long list of bottles "... I can't find the millésime I want"

"Such a snob, I swear" Anya rolls her eyes, but Lexa knows it's just for good measure 

There's a commotion around, interrupting their conversation and when they both look up from the menu, Daniel is pushing the crowd around them that is starting to get denser by the minute, champagne bucket in one hand and a bottle in the other. Anya is frowning but before she has time to comment on how this is surely not meant for them, the waiter tilts his head to the side, motioning to the table where her stranger and her friend are looking at them with rapt attention and a small, knowing smile on their lips. He leans down to shout over the now loud music, "I was asked to deliver it to, and I quote, the tattooed goddess and her friend, on Griff". She can't even say thank to Daniel who already deserted their table before her friend speaks up, grasping her bicep.

"That is one fuckin nice bottle, Lexa..."

As Anya speaks, she takes a closer look at the bottle in the bucket and gasps when she sees Tzar Nicholas II's crest on the bottle. Before she can stop herself, she takes the bottle to examine the label more closely.

"2002 rosé? That's..." She's at a loss for words, eyebrows risen in surprise.

"That's someone with great taste, and a connaisseur. You should totally...."

She doesn't care to listen to what Anya has to say. She's out of her seat in a heartbeat and marching to the blonde's booth to properly introduce herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the typos, it's not beta-ed!


	3. Public (in)decency

"Don't you think it's a little excessive, sending a bottle that literally costs a grand to someone you don't know?"

"Raven. You are the one always telling me, and I quote 'Live a little, Griff, you're always at the hospital, Griff'. So I'm taking a page of your book and I'm living, even if it's only for a couple of weeks. What's the fuckin point of dressing up, having fun in this classy joint if it's not to spend some cash on entertainment, get drunk on good booze and flirt with hot people? If it gets me laid, it's even better. And please, anything other than some classy bubbly is not gonna fly with them. Her clutch alone is worth 3 times that bottle."

"Ooooh, it's a matter of who's got the bigger dick, now? oh how the mighty has fallen! Has your game completely vanished that badly? You used to be able to score some nice ass just with just a look and some good cleavage..."

"No, it's a matter of ensuring she's got some quality stuff in her system. Also she's majestic, and I can pay for it, so what's the issue, here? If she doesn't want it, she can say no, I'm a big girl, I can take it"

"No issue, and I love it when you get in these moods, and she apparently loves it too, Griff, because hot and mysterious is coming over". She barely has time to turn her head when indeed, hot, tall and mysterious is at their table, hovering over Raven's shoulder, looking straight at her.

"I'm usually more partial to Rosé Dom Pérignon but I'll be making an exception for that Cristal Roederer" She loves her voice. Smooth and clear, a velvety threat for her sanity.Clarke doesn't hide the way she's sweeping over her body. She takes her bottom lip between her teeth and opens her mouth to speak

"But Dom Pérignon is so overrated, you look more like a Cristal woman, I mean, it's the most refined cuvée and the nuances in that particular 2002 millésime are just out of this world."

"Oh, really, now? Anyway, I wanted to thank you properly... Miss...?" 

"Clarke. And this is my best friend Raven" 

"Pleasure to meet you both. I'm Lexa, and over there is my best friend Anya. Forgive me for being bold here but I figure it would be a shame to drink this kind of champagne alone, and if you are so inclined, it would be our privilege to share it with you. Also, you paid for some excellent millésime, as you are aware, so it's only fair you have some with us, as _you_ most definitely look like a Cristal kind of woman". That woman, _Lexa_ , she corrects herself, is smirking at her.

"If you let me dance with you afterwards, I'm feeling most definitely… inclined, as you put it." She winks at the woman standing, unwilling to _not_ make innuendos at each turn.

"Ok, let me get my friend and that bubbly treasure" With a parting nod, Lexa is off to her table.

"Raven?" She's watching the woman walk away, hitting her friend's arms repeatedly to get her attention

"Yes, Clarke?" Raven stills her hand.

"Do you think it's possible to be incredibly turned on by someone but also incredibly curious as to what products she uses in her hair at the same time? Because that mane is to die for..." The wonder in her voice makes Raven chuckle.

"For fuck's sake. Pull yourself together, you idiot. Just so I know, are we playing the alternate universe version of ourselves like we do at home when we pick up fuck buddies, or are we actually going to be honest, here?".

"I'm tired, I don't want to lie, for once... After all, we are so far away from home, what are the odds of ever seeing them again after tonight? And I wasn't exactly subtle with the champagne, I'll give you that..."

"I'm game"

She barely has time to recover when Lexa is back with her friend, a smirk on her lips. Her hot brunette ' _how possessive, already'_ seats directly across from her, in a posture that screams power and authority. Head held high, shoulders set, but without the telltale rigidity that would betray nerves or fake confidence. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, hair thrown over one shoulder, cascading over the black blouse that, now that she's in front of her, is not so much plain black as it is, in fact, black but completely sheer under the glare of the club lights. She's eyeing her tattooed bicep when she's pulled away from her shameless staring by Raven and Anya, already giggling over something the engineer just said. She looks up from Lexa's arms to see the very woman she's daydreaming about looking straight at her, elbow propped on the table, her chin planted on the heel of her hand, finger tapping against her lips in practiced patience, a small smile stretching her lips.

"So, are you enjoying yourself, Clarke? Do you like what you're seeing?" She's speechless for a second until she realizes the other woman is not shutting her down but actively encouraging the flirting game they've got going.

"And if I told you I were, what would you do?" That's more like her.

She watches as Lexa leans back into her seat, licking her lips, and looking most definitely at hers. There's a fire in that stare that she wants to taste, that she wants to drown herself in. It's been months since she's had any kind of sexual interaction with another human and she'll be damned if this is not ending with them both being thoroughly ravished and satisfied.

"I'd tell you that..."

"Hey Lexa, Raven and I are going dancing, are you guys coming?"

 _'That would be telling'_ she thinks. She doesn't have any doubt there will be some of that later, with the way they are looking at the other, and if the smirk on Lexa's face is any indication, they are on the same page.

"Not yet" Lexa's double entendre is clear to everybody and her body is buzzing with unrestrained lust. She has to occupy her hands with something and when Raven and Anya weave themselves into the crowd, she pours some champagne to herself and her companion, willing herself to calm the fuck down.

"Now that THAT is settled, how about some champagne?" She hands her glass to Lexa, who lets her fingers overlap hers, a small smile tugging at her lips. She shakes her head in amusement, as they both pretend not to be turned on beyond the point of no return.

She’s not stupid. Despite her champagne stunt, she knows when someone is watching her, and Lexa had most definitely been _watching_. There’s something in the way that she is currently undressing her with her eyes that excites Clarke’s senses. They’ve talked 2 minutes to each other, lusted after the other for 2 minutes longer and yet, here they are, comfortable in the other’s presence, as if they were already familiar with the other. That train of thought makes her falter for a heartbeat but before she can give it too much thought, she’s draining her flute.

\------------------------------

She savors the taste of the bubbly liquid and mentally congratulates herself : she managed to throw off the blonde woman currently draining her glass, even for a second, with that comment to Anya. Calling the shots and being in control is usually her thing, and since their arrival in that club, she’s been nothing but, and that alone is deeply unsettling, if not extremely arousing. Surrendering control or letting go is not something she likes and it’s not something she does, and the ease with which Clarke played the whole thing is nothing but admirable.  
_‘Time to play myself’_ she thinks.

"That is excellent champagne, Clarke. What is a woman of obviously great taste … " she gestures at the bottle and then, with a wink and smirk, gestures to herself " … doing here, with her best friend, in northern Europe when I can hear a slight Bostonian accent?"

" … and here I thought I was perfectly hiding it and replicating the pretentious New York one you’ve got going... Damn, I’m losing my touch"

"I don’t know if I should be offended" She's amused by the no-nonsense and charming wit of the blonde

"You should, I mean, I thrive on antagonizing my prospective hookup partners"

"Prospective ? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you were draining that glass of champagne to quell the thirst you’ve got going for the pretentious Yankee I obviously am"

"Don’t flatter yourself" Clarke is chuckling, eyes dancing with mirth and unrestrained mischief, which is something Lexa is slightly wary of.

"I don’t need to, you already did it for me"

"Ok, enough. You are an asshole, but a hot one, so I’m giving you 10 seconds to empty your glass or I’ll drag you to the dance floor with it, and I don’t want champagne spilled on my pretty things" she gestures at the length of Lexa’s body with her index finder, completely unfazed at how that sounds.

"I’m your pretty thing? Is that so ? You think some nice bubbly is going to win me over?" The snark is unneccesary at this point, but it’s always fun to argue and banter with someone you're bedding later on, she had discovered.

"Give me some credit, Lexa. The champagne is not what sealed the deal..." Clarke is sinfully leaning over the table, breasts pushing at the material of the dress, and she can’t help it, her eyes immediately latch on the black lingerie she can see peeking from the dentelle threads of her upper bodice. She has to bite her lip to prevent her from saying something extremely crass. It’s the telltale feel of a heeled foot slowly making its way up her shin that makes her look right back up.

Clarke is already staring at her, eyes impossibly clear, pupils blown and her tongue peeking from her mouth" … your _impeccable_ taste in women is what sealed that particular deal".

"I like to think I only seek what’s best, in all facets of life. And you… You are the most exquisite delicacy here, and…" She’s done. With a steadying breath, she’s out of her stool and towering over the still seated blonde who’s watching her with a slight smile she’s failing at hiding and a hand still clutching the now-empty glass. With a deliberate movement, she sweeps her hair from one shoulder to the other, mussing it up for good effect, and when she’s satisfied she has Clarke at her mercy, she leans down, a hand grasping at the edge of the table and the other making its way around the stunned silent woman’s shoulders. She’s inches away from the lips she’s wanted to taste since she laid her eyes on them when she veers off course and leans into her ear and whispers, teasing her earlobe with her breath and a graze of her own lips

"…and when I’m eating you out later on, remember it’s a Yankee tongue giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever had, and it’s a born and bred New Yorker fucking you so hard you won’t be able to utter a word in the morning because your voice is too hoarse from all the screaming".

\------------------------------------

The tall brunette is obviously enjoying taking back some semblance of control and it’s turning her on to an impossible degree. She’s not one to be trifled with, though and this hot commodity is going to learn it the hard way. She’s still hovering over her shoulder, nose buried in her hair, an arm that feels just the right amount of muscular draped around one shoulder, the promise whispered in her ear still ringing. With deliberate movements, she unfolds from her seat, leaving no other choice to Lexa but to lean back up, but as she had figured, the other woman is not used to being pushed because she doesn’t let go of the edge of the table she’s clutching, not willing to back down, even for an inch.

 _‘Even better’_ she thinks

Now that they’re both standing up, Clarke finds out with delight that thanks to her heels and the flat shoes Lexa’s wearing, they’re roughly the same height. The alcohol she had already consumed comes back to bite her in the ass, though, when she finds herself slighty unsteady on her feet for a brief second. She doesn’t need to reach for something to grip as Lexa finally lets go of the table, and grabs her forearm, her other one still around her shoulder to steady her. She looks down at the firm but very gentle grip on her on arm and she doesn’t even bother pretending this isn’t to her liking. Licking her lips, she takes a deep breath and her eyes meet Lexa’s.

It’s weird, she thinks, because in that moment, sharing the same air, almost flushed against the other, she forgets that this woman is a complete stranger, she forgets that she knows nothing about her. This feels _familiar_

"Are you steady enough to get out there?" She hears the teasing tone, and if it were any other person, she would have shrugged it off, but the underlying challenge is music to her ears.

"Are you afraid you’re going to make a fool of yourself and are trying to make me back down by mocking me? Please. Steady is what keeps me employed. Steady is my fuckin middle name" She sees eyes that look blue-ish flash at her rebuttal and before she knows it, she’s pressed tightly against the brunette. Lexa is slowly closing the gap between their lips when she suddenly stops, a hand slowly trailing up from Clarke’s forearm to drag it across her neck. When the blonde thinks there’s nothing else to do but kiss, the taller woman looks at the side of her face, and with the back of her fingers, pushes a stray hair behind her ear, with a tenderness that unsettles her.

"Let’s go, Clarke. You talk a big game and now, I want to see what the fuss is all about"

\---------------------------------------

She feels on equal grounds with the blonde woman, having successfully, somehow, turned the table on her once again with that hair stunt. She chastises herself for the gesture, because she’s just bedding the woman for the night and that was unnecessarily tender, even if it had felt natural when they were so close and invading each other’s space.

Clarke stops her hand currently resting in her carefully messed up locks, and with a dazzling smile, tugs on it, leading her to the dance floor. She doesn’t look around, her eyes glued on the blonde’s form, that dress doing nothing to lower her blood pressure. She doesn’t have to look at the crowd to know she’s currently being led to the dance floor by the most beautiful woman in the club, and the short trek to reach it only acting as a vivid reminder that the perfect ass she’s admiring will be at her mercy before the night is over.

She doesn’t feel Clarke halting in her contemplation, and when she crashes into her, she almost sends them flying to the floor. Before she fully understands what she’s doing, her arms wrap themselves around Clarke’s waist, keeping them up. She starts to pull back when two very strong arms slide around hers. Clarke doesn’t turn in her arms but tips her head back up, letting it rest on her shoulder. Not missing a beat, she glances down at the woman in her arms, who’s now twisting her neck and looking at her lips. She seems to be closing the distance but just when their lips are millimeters away, she grins, and changes course, leaning into her ear

"You’re not going anywhere"

Tightening her arms around the blonde, she’s not prepared when she feels her lightly biting on her earlobe and nuzzling her neck, clearly not holding anything back. She’s still not prepared when Clarke intertwines their fingers over her stomach and starts an excruciatingly slow grind of her hips into hers, and she is absolutely not ready when one of her hand, still very much guided by the blonde is dragged across the delicate lace of the dress to scrap along the underside of her breast. She can’t help herself and with Clarke’s fingers still woven with hers, she stretches her thumb to reach a little bit higher than where their hands are currently resting to ghost over a nipple that, she feels, was begging to be touched. She feels the blonde’s shudders and the light grind they’d been entertaining themselves with evolves in a more charged dance.

She’s obvious with her intent, letting her body do the talking, to the rhythm of the music blaring in the club, and when she thinks she can’t take any more of this teasing without ravishing Clarke, she’s blindsided by the feel of hot breath on her neck, immediately followed by lips attacking the skin where shoulder meets neck, an arm shooting up, reaching around her head, buried in her hair, to keep her steady, and at lips' distance. She lets out a gasp, having clearly not expected Clarke to go for it this quickly. She looks down, and bites her lips at the sight she’s met with.

She doesn’t second guess herself and with a gentle tug, she detaches Clarke’s hand from behind her head and slowly turns her around in her arms. Heavy lidded eyes meet their match. There’s a second when Lexa is unsure of where to start because the blonde in her arms deserves the full treatment. The hesitation is short lived because hands grasp hands and Clarke pushes herself into Lexa, their chests so flushed that nothing could come in-between.

At this distance, she sees the mole above her upper lip, up close and personal, the gentle slope of her lips, the definition of her jaw and she’s positively breathless. She’s done with their little game. In one smooth move, she detaches her hands from Clarke’s, moving them to the back of the dress her tormentor is wearing, sliding over the material until they rest just above the curve of her ass. She doesn’t have time to think about where to explore next because she’s suddenly backed into the wall she hadn’t seen behind her, too preoccupied with the woman in her arms, and Clarke pounces.

\-------------------------------------------

She has enough of this back and forth. After one too many slow grind of their hips, she’s sick of feeling the tall woman’s rock hard nipples softly dragging across her back with every single movement. Behind her is a perfectly functional wall, a tad away from the crowd, and fairly secluded from the looks of it – as secluded as any part of a club can be, anyway.  
Her partner for the night is being way too considerate and slides her hands just above her ass, when all she wants is for her to grab it and make her scream her name. She’s always been proactive and this is not going to change.

 _Enough_.

She feels Lexa hitting the wall, hears the grunt escaping her mouth with the force of the shove but doesn’t care. All she cares about are the goosebumps she sees forming on Lexa’s arms. All she cares about is the whimpered _‘Clarke, don’t tease’_ that Lexa utters when she invades her personal space and pushes her breasts into the brunette’s. All she cares about is the way the woman pinned to the wall is looking at her : fiery and aroused, pupils blown, a hand coming up between them to clutch her neck to anchor her there, the other sliding down to grab her ass, _finally_ , gently squeezing it. All she cares about is the fullness of her upper lip, begging to be kissed.

So she does.

She’s kissed her fair share of people, both men and women, and this is where comparisons stop. There is no hesitation, no pretense, and she thinks she’s never felt so vibrant. Everything feels instinctual. Her lips running over Lexa’s, the swift stroke of the brunette’s tongue over her lower lip, the way they seem to instinctively know when to pull and probe, how their hands run across their bodies, how tangled they end up being, hands in hair, hands on hips, hands grabbing at the other as if it was the last thing they’d do. There will be bruising, she thinks, in the morning.

_‘So worth it’_

She’s still sinfully running her tongue over Lexa’s, feeling the fire coursing through them, when the other woman abruptly pulls her lips back, if only for milimeters. Lexa’s hand, the one that has taken permanent residence in Clarke’s hair guides her ear to her mouth.

"Clarke, please stop. If you don’t want to stop, I’m calling us a driver to get us out of here" Clarke doesn’t feel like playing nice, though

"And if I don’t want to leave _and_ don't want to stop?"

"Then fuck me somewhere in this forsaken place now or let me call us someone"

That’s a challenge if Clarke's ever heard one. She looks back behind her. No bouncer in sight, almost nobody around, nobody to pay them any attention. She cranes her neck and sees Raven and Anya chatting away at the bar engrossed in their conversation. The coast is clear – well, relatively.

"So, I guess I only have one question for you…How do you want it, Lexa?"

"What do you think?" The woman manages the feat to look ravished but still incredibly commanding, an eyebrow risen in silent challenge

"From the looks of it, I think you want it hard and fast but are not used to ask for it so blatantly"

"Touché. You’ve talked a big game so far, so… Impress me, Clarke"

She doesn’t need to be told twice. She’s back in her personal space, her lips devouring hers, one hand working its ways around the blouse tucked into Lexa’s pants. The woman is burning up, skin incandescent, and when she dips her fingers a little lower to get to where she wants the most, she moans at the realization that she’s not wearing any underwear under these leather pants.

 _‘Score’_ she thinks

The laboured breath she feels on her cheek indicates that while Lexa’s still kissing her with all that she has, she’s also getting increasingly derailed by her skilled fingers. With one slightly rougher push of the tongue in the other’s mouth, she dips two fingers between Lexa’s lips and over her clit.

She’s the one breaking away from the kiss, a gasp at her lips

"Holy fuck, you are dripping"

"No shit, Clarke". The snark is what gets her. She loves how responsive and how engaging Lexa is.

She’s back in the brunette's arms and back into her pants a second later, grinning into their kiss. The beat of the music, the low lights and the subtle grind of the tall woman’s hips are also working wonders on her own arousal, but before she can take care of _that_ , she has the overwhelming need to see the other woman breaking down around her fingers. She pulls back from her lips, again, not missing how Lexa follows her lips into thin air for a second, before tipping her head back on the wall behind her in silent abandon. Her unoccupied hand shoots up to rest on the wall, next to Lexa’s head, steadying her own body that is starting to exhibit all classic signs of unrelenting lust.

"So, do you make an habit of getting fucked in a very public setting ?"

"I swear, Clarke, if you do not move your fingers, I’m going to have you on the edge for hours when we get out of here"

"Confident you’ll get your turn?" the dynamics between them ever-changing, she's enjoying this push and pull

She doesn’t see it coming. In barely a movement, the tables are turned, and she is the one with her back against the wall, one of Lexa’s knee coming to rest between her legs. She’s speechless when the striking woman grabs her ass, angling her dress-covered hips toward her, and then, without warning, lifts her up into her body, dragging her underwear-covered center on her thigh.

"More like confident I’m not the only one enjoying this"

She looks down at her leather covered leg, and when Clarke follows her eyes, there it is, in all of its glistening glory, her own arousal coating her pants. Chuckling to herself, she looks up at Lexa again, whose gaze is already fixated on hers, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"This is what I get for wearing a dress, I guess"

"Oh, I’m not complaining. Valentino looks perfect on you"

"And here I thought you were admiring me, and not my dress"

"I’m confident you could wear a trash bag and I’d be staring."

"You think you’re so smooth"

"Is it not working ?"

"If the stain on your pants is any indication, I’d say, to my dismay, that it is, indeed, working just fine"

"Clarke?"

"Lexa."

"Let’s get out of here, please. A wall is no proper place to let me fuck you to my liking".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the typos, it's very much un beta-ed  
> Comments are always appreciated, good or bad :)  
> Come over on my tumblr if you wanna talk or yell underthefuckingradar.tumblr.com


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